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Shralpine Extremity

I began shralping as a child. The shralp called to me in a way I cannot put into words. “Come here, it said, come shralp my shralpy shlopes”, it said. I suppose I just put it into words. But it called me in a way I cannot define. Like a lighthouse beckoning stormbeaten shralpers to safe harbor. The gnar was ubiquitous.

When the gnar shralps, you must answer.

There were early bouts of shralpclad reveries and ironstonedwords from hardenedcrusters. #fear, #adversity, and #scared preceded sentiments of gratitude such as #fortunate, #grateful, and #soblessed. In absence of actual needs such as shralping food down my throat, shralping a roof over my head, or shralping a pay check, I confronted #reallife challenges that third world foreigners would never have to face – gravity, lead falls, overpriced pints at the local pub. The stage was set for an internal drama. The stage was the #mountains and #mytorturedbrain.

Overcoming adversity requires ingenuity.

While friends and family onlooked in dismay, I shralped my few meager possessions at the nearest consignment shop (except for my #trustfund), and set forth on my journey. My #vanlife was packed, and like Rocinante I found myself Don Quixoteing forth. When the tables turned I worked on windmills. Cold and bitter two week stints of work provided funds for months and months of living in a @vonsparkinglot. The #shralplife is a challenging one. I learned to paint the sun in its true colors, the clouds in pastel pinks, I wrote as no human has ever writ before, and I invented a musical instrument out of dumpstered scrap metal. Tom Waits bought the instrument, or at least I got an email from him saying he would. Emails were my best friends in dark times like these.

The mountains provided, and like Gaston Rébuffat, I had earned fame and fortune few had ever imagined before. My ship set sail, and upon my shralping return, the masses lined up waiting for autographs. I had truly saved the civilized world from the shralping defeat of the #uninspired. Some people ignore life’s true meaning by working all the time at a #ninetofive, some people answer a deeper calling. When the time comes, what call will you shralpswer?

Shralpimus Shralpsinus lived a short but incredible life. In 2015, he disappeared into a Phish show with a bong, a didgeridoo, and a bag of mushrooms. He was never heard from again – so far. It’s only been a couple weeks, but we’re pretty sure he’s gone. Anyway, he redefined a sport which few have deigned to even acknowledge the existence of: Using Social Media Marketing to Obfuscate the Vacuousness of What You Do and Instill a Sense of Meaning in a Meaningless Pursuit Whose Sole Value Lies in Ignoring More Pressing Social, Political, and Global Matters Because They Have no Immediate and Obvious Answer and Can’t be Onsighted.